


Terrible Things

by JamesBarnes (Castielchester)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mayday Parade, Mentions of Cancer, OOC Sherlock, Songfic, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielchester/pseuds/JamesBarnes
Summary: In which Sherlock believes he and John are invincible. (A small fic based on the Mayday Parade song Terrible Things)





	Terrible Things

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! So I don't write anymore BUT I really love this song and it reminds me of Johnlock. Seriously, check out the song before reading if you want! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAplLy3tzmI
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks!

_By the time I was your age I’d give anything_

_to fall in love truly was all I could think_

 

Sherlock flipped his collar up and continued on through the bleachers; football games were not really his thing but he wasn’t here for the game anyway. Taking a seat, he looked around until he spotted him - it wasn’t hard, he was all blonde hair and jumpers.

 

John Watson.

 

He was cerulean eyes, the ocean trapped in each iris, that threatened to take you under with every glance. His skin like that of porcelain, soft, and so seemingly unmarred by the world and golden hair that looked warmed by the sun itself. John was the most beautiful person Sherlock thinks he had ever seen.

Sherlock had heard stories about people falling in love, and although he would scoff at them and retort something along the lines of, "love is merely translated by the thalamus, which is sent to the amygdala, resulting in the flooding of endorphins and other neurochemicals such as oxytocin, vasopressin and dopamine,” he found a part of him that, although resigned to never finding it, yearning for that chemical reaction.

So Sherlock couldn’t help himself, fruitless in his attempt to even speak to John when they were in the same general vicinity, took it upon himself to admire from afar.

He spent half the game staring at John and it wasn’t until a bit of commotion happened up front that he looked away - and really it was only for a moment before he had turned back steeling himself when he saw a familiar beige jumper heading toward him - but that did not mean he was prepared.

John sat down next to him, all huddled into himself, and it was like Sherlock was seeing him for the first time; caught under the waves, yet found he didn’t mind drowning, if it meant he’d get to look at John for a little bit longer, and truly that was terrifying.

Sherlock didn't speak, he couldn't even open his mouth, which, he thought, was probably good - that was usually when people told him to piss off, but that did not stop John from leaning over, and _god,_ Sherlock could feel his breath on the side of his face, and for the first time everything in his head had gone still.

 

John Watson could bring on his destruction, and Sherlock would thank him. He doesn’t think he even breathed when John began to speak, “boy can I tell you a wonderful thing?”

 

_I can’t help but notice, you’re staring at me_

_I know I shouldn’t say this, but I really believe_

_I can tell by your eyes that you’re in love with me._

 

Sherlock fumbled a bit with his pocket, making sure what he needed was still in there before looking over at John. John, who could still, now, bring the world to a halt right in front of his eyes, sat staring at the stars. It was just something that they did, after finishing out high school together and continuing their way to college, they’d always found time to just be in each others presence.

He could never begin to describe it, the way John made him feel - perhaps what it’s like to fall, but never having to worry about hitting the ground. The way their lips touched made Sherlock feel whole again, like every single thing was just right and nothing bad could possibly ever happen. The pure electricity he felt humming beneath John’s flesh like somehow his body was made up of things he couldn’t possibly begin to imagine - pieces of the universe made up everything that was John.

They sat in the damp grass, drinking and watching the sky when Sherlock had turned to John and, even though they had dated for a while, found himself lost, like he was so many years ago, staring and wanting.

John just smiled back and whispered that of love and for a moment Sherlock despised that word because it was not enough - it was just not enough. Love was just a story that couldn’t compare to what they had, because love was just chemicals and reactions but this, _this,_ was different. Sherlock needed John like he needed oxygen, John was _vital_ to his very being, he pumped through his veins, and nestled his way so deep within Sherlock he didn’t think he could ever be whole without him.

 

Sherlock, guided merely by the light of the moon above him, pulled two items out of his pocket and whispered to John, “Boy can I tell you a wonderful thing?”

 

_I made you a present with paper and string,_

_open with care now I’m asking you please_

_You know that I love you, will you Marry me?_

 

Sherlock, of all the wit and intellect that made him up, could be quite dense at times, of course that was what everyone else said. Life with John was everything he’d ever wanted and more; they’d married and looked into a surrogate; if something was wrong Sherlock had unconsciously elected to ignore it.

John kept him whole, kept him right; Sherlock was strong with John and together they would take on the entire world. John was always solid, the one continuous, stable thing in Sherlock’s life, untainted by the world, he seemed inviolable.

Perhaps that was why Sherlock chose to ignore the signs that any normal person would have picked up, though, to be fair, life had a habit of sneaking around and choosing to rear its ugly head all at once.

Perhaps, looking back, if he hadn’t been so caught up in the idea that they were impenetrable he would have noticed things like the weight loss and frequent doctors visits; and maybe he’d known, he’d known it all along, but chose to discard the idea that anything could ever happen to John, his John.

So it wasn’t until they’d put their son to bed and retreated to their back yard to watch the stars that John had leaned in, and God, it was _almost_ like that day all those years ago, but Sherlock knew- he _knew-_ it was completely different because the energy was so wrong and John’s hand was too thin, the world was too peaceful and the night was too still, as if it was not about to shatter Sherlock’s entire being. He heard John whisper, “Boy can I tell you a terrible thing?”

 

_It seems that I’m sick and I’ve only got weeks_

_Please, don’t be sad now, I really believe_

_You were the greatest thing that ever happened to me_

 

Sherlock looks up slowly from the headstone, tracing the letters slowly, as if they are not already seared into his brain, **J - o - h - n** , and he repeats it like a mantra, _John,_ the only man who could ever truly bring him to his knees. Sherlock turns to cerulean eyes, because John is everywhere, he is nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Sherlock looks to his son, he had to tell him their story, to teach him, to _protect_ him; he couldn’t bare to see the same thing happen to him. To see the world create someone, someone just for him, someone who lights a fire deep inside of him and makes him careless to the idea of burning from the inside out. To be lulled into a false sense of security, that they are invincible to things like separation, time or _sickness._ Sherlock had to teach him, that if he had the choice he should choose to walk away, that there is just too much to lose when you invest all that you are and all that you will be into another person.

 

Sherlock had to show him that breaking yourself down and building yourself back up with the pieces of someone else meant that when that person dies, you do too.

 

_Now son, I’m only telling you this_

_Because life, can do terrible things_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I typed this up on my phone and didn't proof-read (also, like I said, I don't write anymore), so please excuse/ignore the typos and how bad it is, I'll try to fix formatting when I have the chance to get on my laptop. Sorry to bore you all with this!


End file.
